


I Don't See an Easy Way to Get out of This

by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Coercion, Come Marking, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Happy Ending, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, self-destructive behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 10:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10534434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeordietrying/pseuds/asexual-fandom-queen
Summary: Iris and Leonard go to unspeakable lengths to stay alive. Barry gets caught in the fallout, and it's a beautiful disaster.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedHead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/gifts), [Nixie_DeAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/gifts).



> **THERE ARE MAJOR CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC**  
>  Please be mindful of the tags and read at your own discretion. While the fic ends in a good place, it takes some dark turns along the way, and that isn't for everyone. This fic also contains consensual sex and romance, but it's not meant to condone or romanticize rape in any way. What happens in this fic isn't right, and it isn't healthy, I'm simply exploring a "what if" scenario. 
> 
> If that does sound like something you're interested in reading, I hope you enjoy. Comments and kudos are much appreciated, especially on a fic this dark to reassure me that I haven't completely lost my mind. 
> 
> Title take from the song (I Just) Died in Your Arms, originally by [Cutting Crew](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZIOkbrX_uU), but I wrote it the fic with [Bastille's cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_osc6a-DaAQ) in mind. 
> 
> A big thanks also to [Nixie_DeAngel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/pseuds/Nixie_DeAngel) and [RedHead](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/pseuds/RedHead) for keeping me excited about this project and giving me the motivation to power through and get it done, even though it's been sitting in my drafts since November. Y'all are the real MVPs, and this probably would never have gotten finished without you.

Iris’ heart hammers in her chest as the doorknob rattles, turned from outside in the hall. Before she can do more than shove her phone back into her purse and slide shut the drawer she’s definitely not supposed to be snooping through, warm hands descend on her hips and a firm, broad chest backs her thighs against the desk. 

“Trust me.” 

Leonard’s voice is low and husky, hard with urgency and an impending sense of danger. As the door swings open, Leonard’s lips press, wet and wanton, against Iris’ own, and one of his large, dexterous hands slips beneath the waistband of her pants. Iris gasps into his mouth, and Leonard thrusts his tongue beyond her parted lips. 

His fingers press scandalously against the thundering pulse in her groin, digits brushing the hem of her lacey black panties. It’s so forward and unexpected that her cunt throbs and she pushes up against him, chasing something, anything,  _ more _ . Her lips move automatically against his, returning the searing kiss he’s initiated without conscious thought. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” 

The voice jolts Iris back to reality. She pulls her lips from Leonard’s and turns to see one of Darbinyan’s nameless goons leaned against the threshold, pistol gripped loosely in his right hand. Iris flushes, hot and ashamed, at being caught in such a compromising position, of going along with it all so willingly. Leonard’s hand is still in her pants, and she has to bite her lip to keep from squirming. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” the goon says, though he sounds more amused than anything else. He’s young and not entirely bad looking, more than Iris expected from a criminal lackey.  

Mortification feels thick and heavy in Iris’ throat, but it’s better than the alternative of getting caught stealing red-handed. When rumours picked up around town that the youngest Darbinyan son, apparently an upstanding citizen off studying abroad at the time of Kyle Nimbus’ hit on the family, had returned and was rebuilding his father’s criminal empire, Iris wanted nothing more than to be the first person to get their hands on the official scoop. Not unlike the time she ended up chased at gunpoint by crooked land developers, she lept into the story headfirst and went straight for the source, a party Darbinyan was throwing to celebrate his return to Central City. 

Still, Iris needed an in, and the first person she thought of for the job was none other than Leonard Snart. Leonard and Barry are on friendly terms now, have been ever since Leonard got back from his mission through time, the hero versus villain routine reduced to grandstanding. So, it made sense for Iris to approach Leonard about being his plus one to the event. She expected him to turn her down, or demand a price, but he did neither. All he asked was that she wear something she could move around in, and that she promise to follow his lead if they ever got into trouble. 

Well, this is definitely trouble.  

“What can I say?” Leonard drawls, tossing the goon a sly look. He places a wet, open-mouthed kiss against Iris’ collarbone with purpose. “My girl here’s insatiable.” 

“Then satiate her.” 

Iris’ blood turns to ice in her veins. Leonard’s hand stills as he withdraws it from her pants, barely moving half an inch. 

“Excuse me?” Leonard snaps, his voice hard and sharp. He angles his body like a shield between Iris and Darbinyan’s goon, almost imperceptible, but Iris notices, given the close press of their bodies, his hand still resting so close to such an intimate place. 

“Come on, Snart,” the goon chuckles. “Bet that whore of yours looks real pretty when she comes.” 

Indignation flashes in Leonard’s eyes, and his hand moves again. Iris has never seen him so angry before, so unrestrained. Still, before his hand can make it out of her pants, they’re both frozen in place by the sound of a gun cocking. 

“Wasn’t a request.” 

Darbinyan’s goon smiles, so slick and self-satisfied, a chill runs up Iris’ spine and her stomach churns. Leonard must feel her shake under his hands, because his thumb strokes gently over her thigh in response. 

“Thought Darbinyan was building an army, not a pervert brigade,” Leonard snarks, and the man with the gun laughs outright. 

“Don’t tell me the rumours are true,” he says. “Captain Cold’s gone and got himself some scruples.” 

Leonard huffs. “Maybe I’m just possessive of what’s mine,” he offers. Iris shivers again when Leonard calls her  _ his _ , but for entirely different reasons than before. 

“I’m not asking for a piece of the action,” the goon replies. “Just a little look-see.” 

He waves the gun to emphasize his point, and Leonard’s hand tightens on Iris’ thigh. He lowers his head to lick and nibble and the lobe of her ear, teeth catching on the small gold stud. It makes Iris’ breath hitch. 

“Play along,” Leonard whispers, voice steady and firm. He drops his lips to her pulse point and licks, one short, broad stroke, then drags over the same, sensitive area with his teeth. His hand moves in her pants, back and forth, ghosting against the pulse point there, too. Iris gasps.  

“Good sport,” Darbinyan’s goon comments, but his voice sounds hollow in Iris’ ears. 

Iris can tell from the way he angles his hand that Leonard’s trying to avoid touching her there, trying to make the show they’re putting on just that -- a show. But every drag of his fingers against the edge her panties causes just enough friction to send a spike of heat straight to her clit. Her pussy throbs obscenely for him, muscles spasming, clenching down around nothing. The more he rubs against her the more sensitive she gets, a heady rush of blood engorging her labia and her clit, a torturous positive feedback loop that only serves to heighten her arousal. Her nipples harden, pressing against the lacey fabric of her bra and poking through the thin material of her blouse.

Iris draws in a ragged breath as one particular stroke, inadvertently firmer than the others as Leonard, still biting and sucking kisses into her neck, tries to reposition his hand, causes her hips to jerk forward. Iris wants to scream, is so mad at herself, for how much his touch is turning her on, even with Darbinyan’s man watching them, holding them at gunpoint, even with Barry waiting for her at home. 

God, Barry. How is she ever going to explain this to him? 

Leonard kisses her again at the corner of her jaw, almost reassuring, as her breathing ratchets up. He traces his nose over the shell of her ear and she whimpers, head tilting back, putty in his hands. He wraps his other hand around her side and strokes her with his thumb, and any hope Iris has of playing this off as acting disappears as another sharp spike of arousal sends a rush of slick past her lips, soaking the lacey front of her underwear. 

Iris can tell the moment Leonard feels her wetness against his fingers. He puffs a hot, heavy breath against her neck, like someone’s knocked the wind out of him. His hand falters, only enough for Iris to feel and not for Darbinyan’s man to see, and Iris’ knees clamp involuntarily around his hips, holding him in place.   

Iris shudders and Leonard shushes her as he presses his lips against her temple, damp and salty with sweat. “It’s okay,” he whispers. His fingers don’t stray from the deep furrow of her groin. 

Not that it matters. The friction is still enough to send Iris catapulting over the edge. She feels her orgasm build with dismay, embarrassingly quick -  _ easy  _ \- but there’s nothing she can do to stave it off, not with Leonard hot and firm and smelling so fucking good all around her. 

Iris clutches onto Leonard’s biceps until her knuckles are sore, panting into his ear. “Len,” she moans, repeating his name over and over like a prayer as her thighs begin to quiver and shake. She’s so wet she can feel it soaking through the intricate lace of her panties, can feel it coating Leonard’s fingers, tacky as it dries where he rubs it into her skin.  

When Iris comes, her whole body tenses, back bowing, head tossed back so the ends of her hair brush against the surface of the desk, exposing the long column of her neck and her pert, erect nipples. Leonard’s nose brushes against her throat, his free hand steadying her as it presses into the small of her back. She feels light and floaty, like her mind’s gone somewhere else, basking in the moment, the euphoric feel of her release and his body pressed so close against hers. 

The sound of Darbinyan’s man’s slow, smug clapping draws Iris out of her post-orgasmic bliss like a bucket of ice water. Shame claws at her throat, her eyes, makes her dizzy and sick. Leonard’s fingers are slick with her come when he finally pulls them from her pants. 

“Fuckin’ beauty,” Darbinyan’s goon goads. He’s gone back to pointing his gun at them, grip tight on the handle like he knows he’s poked a sleeping bear, or at least that’s what it looks like for as much as Iris can stand to look at him. 

“Bet she’d look even better with those lips stretched around a nice, big cock,” he adds. 

Leonard’s angled in front of her again, more obvious this time, sneering at the other man. “You’ve had your fun,” he says. “Now piss off.” 

“Relax, Snart,” Darbinyan’s man laughs. “I got no interest in seeing your dick, even if it is to watch her suck it.” 

Taking a step back, Darbinyan’s man opens the door Iris doesn’t remember him shutting and steps a foot outside. “I’ll be back in five,” he says. “I suggest you be gone by then, unless you wanna see your girl suck a cock that’s a bit more age appropriate.”  

The moment he’s gone, the door swinging closed with a harsh, sharp snap of wood against wood, Leonard steps back like Iris is on fire. He grabs a tissue from the box on the desk and meticulously wipes his hands, pays extra attention to the beds of his nails, all the while keeping his back turned to Iris, facing the door. 

“Do you have everything?” 

Leonard’s voice takes Iris by surprise. She jolts, still perched on the edge of the desk with her legs splayed open. It takes her a second to remember why they’re here, why they risked getting caught nosing around in the first place. Evidence of Darbinyan’s criminal dealings. Which Iris snapped pictures of with her phone. 

“Yeah,” Iris says, but it comes out quiet and rough. She tries again. “Yeah, it’s in my purse.” 

Leonard nods, his shoulders drawn up high and tight. “Good,” he replies. “Then we should go.” 

Iris shifts her weight back onto her feet and stands, albeit on shaky legs. “Leonard--”

“It’s a physiological response,” Leonard drawls. He stuffs the tissue in his pocket, like he doesn’t want to leave any evidence behind, and while Iris think there’s more evidence than just what’s on that tissue, she lets it be. 

“Nothing to tie yourself in knots over,” Leonard continues. “This ain’t on you.” 

They drive back to Iris’ apartment in stifled silence. Iris fights the urge to squirm in her seat, self-conscious of how wet she is between her thighs and unable to escape the thought that she’s soaking through her slacks and onto the expensive leather of Leonard’s seats. Shame burns at the back of Iris’ throat every time she imagines the puddle of slick she’ll leave behind glistening in the dashboard light as Leonard drives home, the way the thick, musky smell of her arousal will linger in the air long after she’s gone, both thoughts that make her pussy clench in want, like she hasn’t just came, like Leonard hasn’t just gotten her off with the fingers he has in a white-knuckle grip against the steering wheel. 

When they pull up outside Iris’ apartment building, Leonard keeps his eyes trained ahead, not quite on the car parked in front of them, but some unfocused point in the foreground. “Good night, Iris,” he whispers. He says her name like velvet, even as the rest of the sentence comes out rough and broken, like the gravel and the wound in equal measure. 

“Good night,” Iris whispers back, though the sound barely makes it past her lips. She opens the door to the car and slides off her seat, glances back enough to see it’s dry, then shuts the door as softly as she can without stopping it from latching and heads for her building’s main doors. 

Barry’s waiting up when she reaches the apartment. He’s in a baggy pair of sweatpants and her favourite CCPD hoodie, unzipped to show his bare chest, all hard planes of muscle that still makes Iris swoon, even if, after all this time, she should consider it mundane. 

“Hey, you’re home early,” he greets absently, pulling himself off the couch to face her. Iris is still stuck in the entryway, shoes on, purse slung over her shoulder, and keys gripped tight enough in her hand for the teeth to puncture skin. “Did Snart behave?”    

Iris doesn’t realize she’s shaking until Barry’s suddenly an inch away, wind from his speed whipping against her like a freight train. “Hey, are you okay?” 

There’s so much concern in Barry’s voice, such delicacy in his touch when he brings his warm, broad palms up to cup her face, that Iris can’t hold back the hysteric sob that pushes past her lips. She trembles hard enough for her purse to slip off her shoulder and clatter loudly to the floor, her bloodstained keys following seconds later. 

“Iris,” Barry says. 

Iris shakes her head. “I didn’t want to, Barry,” she says, voice breathy and broken but still emphatic, because she needs him to know, needs him to understand. “It just happened.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Barry shushes, his fingers ghosting across Iris’ temple in a way that reminds her too much of soft, careful lips whispering the same empty promise. An uncontrollable shudder racks Iris’ body from deep within her core, spreading through every aching muscle and the pit of every bone until her thighs, her head, and even the tips of her fingers won’t stop shaking. 

“Tell me what happened,” Barry says. His voice is coaxing yet soft. Iris shuffles forward and buries her face in the curve of his neck, reveling in the warmth of Barry’s arms around her chest since she’s suddenly so cold. She grips the back of his sweater and stares at the pattern of moles dotting his tendon. There’s no way she can look him in the eye for this. 

“We got caught in Darbinyan’s office,” Iris says, her lips brushing across Barry’s skin as she speaks. Her breath hitches from crying before, but she’s not crying now. She feels floaty instead, empty, like she’s a million miles away. Barry’s embrace is an anchor, the only thing keeping her moored in tempestuous waters. 

“He--” Iris stops short as her breath hitches again. “He was just trying to give us a cover.” 

“You mean Snart?” Barry asks. 

Iris can only nod. Tension grips Barry’s body, every muscle going rigid, and Iris knows he knows, or at least suspects. Dread settles in her throat and steals her breath.  

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” Barry whispers, every strained syllable drowning in sorrow, but he holds it together, stroking a thumb across Iris’ back to calm the tidal wave of emotions welling up behind her eyes.  

Iris draws in a shuddering gasp as a tear slips down her cheek. “He didn’t do anything wrong, Barry,” she says frantically, more tears following the first. “He was just trying to keep us alive. He didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Okay,” Barry says quickly, then again, quiet, reassuring. “Okay.” 

Iris hears him swallow hard against her ear. When he speaks again, there are tears in his voice. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says. “Just-- I just wanna know if you’re hurt. Or if you need anything.” 

Iris shakes her head, gets her tears under control. “No,” she says. “I’m fine, Barr, really.” Still, she sniffles, beyond her control. “I’m sorry--” 

“Hey, no, don’t apologize,” Barry says, shaking his head. He takes Iris’ face between his palms again and places a gentle kiss against her pinched brow. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 

Iris nods, wants to believe him, but she can’t stop gnawing at her lips, can’t ignore the dampness between her legs or the way the memory of Leonard’s hands ghosting against her skin still makes her clit throb.  

“I came,” Iris whispers, deathly quiet in the space between the press of their bodies. 

Barry’s breath catches, and Iris feels him shudder. “That’s--” he cuts himself off, throat working noisily in the silence of the room. “That’s not your fault,” he tries again. 

Iris shakes her head. She steps out of Barry’s arms, puts enough space between them so the feeling of Barry’s touch and the memory of Leonard’s aren’t bleeding together anymore. 

“It felt so good, Barry,” Iris admits. It punches the air out of Barry’s lungs, and Iris matches him with a shudder. “I wanted him to keep touching me, to put his fingers inside--”

The uptick in Barry’s breath stops Iris’ confession short. Her own breathing is laboured as memory gives way to fantasy, thoughts of Leonard’s long, deft fingers sliding her panties aside and pushing up into her wet, aching cunt, making her throb with want as much as it sickens her with guilt. 

Barry inhales, sharp and broken, and Iris’ eyes snap up to meet his. The ring of hazel-green is barely a sliver, pupils blown dark and wide. His lips are parted, plush and pink and so scandalously tantalizing. The weight in Iris’ belly feels as heavy as his gaze. 

“He didn’t?” The question trails off, Barry’s voice thick and raspy in a way that makes Iris tremble. 

“No,” Iris replies. As she does, she notices Barry’s attention shift to the exposed column of her neck. Iris watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thick, then traces the glistening line his tongue runs across his bottom lip. 

Iris flushes hot from the high planes of her cheekbones to her pussy, aching between her thighs. The phantom feeling of lips and tongue and teeth worshipping her skin, sucking and biting and taking her apart, floods Iris’ senses. Leonard’s marks hold Barry enraptured, and he stalks forward like a parched man in the desert who’s found an oasis but doesn’t quite trust it not to be a mirage. Barry’s fingers trail across Iris’ neck, and the touch ignites her blood, pulls a small, broken moan from her throat. 

“He kissed you here?” Barry asks. 

Iris sucks in a desperate breath. “Yes,” she replies. 

She mewls when Barry’s lips press to her skin. He trails his lips along the same path as his fingers, tracing bruises Iris hasn’t seen but knows exist, worked into her flesh like a brand. The gentle brush of Barry’s lips switches out for his tongue, lapping and sucking like he’s chasing the ghost of Leonard’s mouth, his taste, on Iris’ skin. 

Barry pulls back. He runs his thumb against Iris’ lips. “And here?” he asks. 

Iris nods, even as she leans in to capture Barry’s mouth in a searing kiss. Barry’s thumbs trace reverent patterns against the corners of her jaw, coaxing it open for his tongue to plunge hotly into her mouth. Iris matches his fire, nipping and sucking and licking obscenely until both their lips are swollen and red. 

Hands travel, firm and sure, down Iris’ neck, down her chest to cup and squeeze her breasts. Iris arches into Barry’s touch, moans wantonly and grinds her hips forward against the hardness stirring in Barry’s sweatpants. Her fingers fall to the drawstring and pull the tie loose, tugging at the elastic waist. Barry whines, high and needy in his throat, as the back of Iris’ knuckles brush across coarse hair. 

In the space of a heartbeat, Iris’ back hits their mattress and Barry is on top of her, surrounding her, rolling his hips against hers in a desperate rut as they exchange frantic, filthy kisses. Iris races to shove Barry’s hoodie off his shoulders, her nails raking down the sculpted muscles of his back, then around to his chest. Barry hisses as Iris’ fingers brush against his nipples, always so sensitive, and Iris moans his name. 

Barry slides down Iris’ body, pushing the silky fabric of her blouse up enough to kiss and lick below the hollow of her navel. He trails his mouth down until they meet the waist of her pants, hot and obscenely wet in a way that makes Iris’ cunt clench in sympathy, her own wetness leaking from her slit, soaking her underwear. 

The point of Barry’s tongue pokes beneath her waistband, and Iris gasps and arches into him. “Please, Barry,” she begs. Her head feels thick and clouded, like a fever burning from the inside. She twines her fingers through his hair and pushes him lower, closer to the throbbing heat between her legs she can’t escape, hasn’t been able to escape since the first drag of Leonard’s hand against her skin. 

Barry doesn’t need to be asked twice. His unnaturally quick fingers work her pants open, then down her legs. Iris strips out of her top and bra as Barry settles between her splayed thigh and takes her in with dark, greedy eyes. 

“Fuck,” Barry whines. The sound makes Iris shake. “You’re so wet.” 

Barry leans in and trails his nose up the damp, lacey fabric of Iris’ panties, from the seam of the crotch to the top of the waistband. He lowers his face and follows the same path with the flat of his tongue, and Iris keens.   

“So wet for him, Iris,” Barry repeats, his hot breath puffing against her core and making her toes curl. He pulls her panties to the side and spreads her lips with his thumbs, staring with rapt attention at the slick drenching her pussy and the way her muscles twitch, begging to be touched, to be fucked. 

“He made you drip,” Barry says. He punctuates the statement with a flick of his thumb against her clit and Iris gasps, back bowing off the bed. “Made you come.” 

“Yeah,” Iris pants. 

Barry groans. He pulls her underwear off in a burst of superspeed and spreads her legs out wider, her pussy on display for his greedy eyes. Barry curses, watching her tight, glistening hole contract wildly, searching for friction, for relief. 

“Where did he he touch you?” Barry asks, thin and breathy, like the desperate need to know might drive him mad. Iris reaches down and takes hand, guides it to the hammering pulse in her groin. Barry’s touch is light, fingers teasing, and Iris bites back a deafening moan. 

“Just here?” he asks, something akin to desire, to  _ envy _ , colouring his tone. “So fucking wet and he didn’t even need to touch your pussy.”

Barry’s touches go from delicate to firm, insistent. Paired with the circles Barry traces against her clit, it makes Iris’ thighs shake. 

“I bet his fingers felt so good,” Barry adds. “God, they-- They look like they would. Long and wide and so fucking clever. The way they’d drive into to, take you apart, find that exact right spot to make you beg.” 

Barry’s fingers leave Iris’ clit to fuck into her instead, two at once. She’s so slick she hardly feels the stretch, but she does feel the incredible jolt of pleasure when his fingers crook into her G-spot. Barry’s other hand moves from the furrow of Iris’ groin to grasp her thigh, spreading it high and flush to the mattress so his lips and tongue can trace the lines Leonard’s fingers once traced. Like with the hickeys on Iris’ neck, he sucks and licks like he’s searching for something hidden in the memories on her skin. 

“You want his fingers,” Barry says. It’s not a question. 

“Yes,” Iris replies anyway. 

Barry adds another finger, fucks her harder, deeper, pulls a delicious moan from high in her throat. “You want his cock,” he whispers. 

“Yes,” Iris whines, toes curling and uncurling in the sheets. She grips Barry’s hair and pulls his mouth to her throbbing cunt where his fingers are buried to the hilt. He wraps his lips around her clit and suck, the flicks the sensitive flesh with the pointed tip of his tongue. 

“Barry,” Iris cries. She shakes beneath him, so close, tugging at his hair until it must be painful, but Barry isn’t done. His free hand slides down the waist of his sweats just enough to pull his cock free, flushed and leaking precome. He jerks himself off as he eats her out, his moans muffled against her skin as hers fill the room unrestrained.

Iris is right on the edge when Barry pulls his mouth from her clit. His fingers keep working her, but it’s not quite enough, not until he starts talking again. 

“He’d fuck so good,” Barry whimpers. He shifts his hips to thrust into his own first on every stroke, and Iris groans, watching the lurid sight from beneath her lashes. “Toy with you first until you’re gagging for it. God, he’s such a fucking tease. Sex on legs with that  _ fucking  _ smirk and that  _ fucking  _ voice.”  

Barry punctuates each obscenity with a pointed thrust and Iris clenches down on his fingers. “His cock would be so hard, so hot, stretch you so fucking wide it’s all you’d be able to think about. Want him so much.” 

“Yes, Barry,” Iris groans. Barry’s fingers start vibrating in her cunt and it pushes Iris over the edge, every muscles tensing and shaking, back arching so desperately her shoulders lift off the bed. Barry’s mouth returns to her clit as he keeps fingering her, working her through her orgasm until she’s raw and oversensitive. He comes just seconds behind her, shuddering and moaning into her slick folds. Iris feels his come splash against her thigh, rocketing through the haze of her post-orgasmic bliss to make her cunt spasm one last time around his fingers before he withdraws them and wipes them carelessly on the sheets. 

Barry’s forehead falls to the soft swell of Iris’ hip. His sweat glides across her skin, and the fingers of his left hand trace patterns against her thigh. Iris’s own fingers run soothingly through his hair as they catch their breath. 

The room is eerily quiet. Iris feels Barry shaking before she hears the sound of muffled cries and realizes the wetness falling against her hip isn’t just sweat. 

“Babe, are you okay?” Iris asks, her heart caught in her throat. Everything that’s happened… there’s a lot to unpack. Iris scrapes her nails lightly against Barry’s scalp and he shivers, a small, broken sound slipping past his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Barry says, nuzzling deeper into her side like he’s terrified she’s going to pull away. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

Iris’ hand moves from Barry’s hair to his upper back to trace slow, patient circles. “What happened to you,” he continues, drawing in a long, shaky breath. “It was awful. And I made it about me. About my feelings for--” 

Barry stops himself short, tenses his muscles and curls in on himself like he’s expecting anger and lashes. Instead, Iris swallows, painfully thick, blinking back tears, and cups Barry around the neck to tug him up to face her. 

“Me, too,” Iris says, whispered carefully into the silence of their bedroom, like they’d be weapons if they came out too sharp. 

Barry curls his body against her, wraps an arm around her waist and drags his nose along her collarbone. “Are we gonna be okay?” he asks. 

Iris shifts onto her side and places a hand on Barry’s chin, angling his head to catch his lips in a soft, loving kiss. “Yeah,” she says, not a lot but all they really need, at least for now. Barry scoops her up in his arms and cradles her against his chest, lets his fingers card through her hair as he inhales the lingering scent of her coconut shampoo. 

The silence can only last so long before reality creeps back in. “What about Leonard?” Iris asks. 

“We talk to him,” Barry replies, like it’s that easy, like it’s that simple. 

“What if never wants to speak to me again?” Iris asks, voice trembling. Barry rubs her arm and presses a kiss to her forehead. “What do we even say to him if he does?” 

Barry is quiet for a long, uncertain moment. Iris hears him swallow, then again, like he’s trying to work out words stuck in his throat. “I don’t know, Iris,” he says finally. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.” 

Barry’s phone ringing on the nightstand pulls the couple from their thoughts. “I have to take this,” Barry says as he pulls out of Iris’ arms and stretches across the bed to answer the incoming call. “Hey, Joe, what’s up?” 

Whatever Joe says next, it shakes Barry to his core. He bolts upright and Iris follows, a sympathetic wave of panic gripping her. 

“He’s doing what?” Barry asks one second, then tosses his phone onto the mattress the next with a quick “you’re on speaker,” as he moves to the closet where the Flash suit is kept. 

“Dad, what’s going on?” Iris asks. She pulls a sheet around her chest to preserve her modesty, even if her father isn’t able to see. 

“Snart’s at the precinct,” Joe replies, strained and loud over the noise of sirens in the background. “Firing that gun of his at anything that moves.” 

Iris’ breath catches in her throat. She’s out of bed just as fast as Barry, grabbing a wad of tissues and wiping crudely at the wetness between her thighs, then Barry’s come still streaked across her thigh. 

“I don’t get what going on here,” Joe continues. “I thought Snart was one of the good guys now. Or at least one of the not-so-bad guys.” 

“Joe,” Barry says, voice firm, but with an undercurrent of unchecked panic, too. “You can’t let the CCPD shoot at him.”

Iris hears the incredulity in her father’s voice. “The hell I can’t,” he says. “Snart’s the one firing a deadly weapon on a police building.” 

“If he wanted anyone dead, they would be,” Iris counters. She and Barry both stop cold and share a look of dread. 

“Is anyone?” Barry asks, but he trails off, like he can’t bear to hear the thought spoken out loud. 

“No,” Joe replies, and Barry and Iris breath a sigh of relief. “But it is getting awful nippy. What’s going on, anyway? Is this a meta thing? Some kinda mind control?” 

“Don’t worry about it, Joe,” Barry says. “Just keep anyone from getting too trigger happy, and I’ll be right there.” 

Barry doesn’t wait around for Joe to reply. He zips into his Flash suit, then picks up his phone to stop the call. Iris pulls Barry’s discarded hoodie over a clean-ish tank top from the laundry basket and a pair of flannel pyjama pants. She grabs a hair tie from the nightstand and tosses her hair in a messy bun as she looks Barry dead in the eye. 

“I’m coming with you,” she says. Barry opens his mouth to speak but Iris cuts him off with a quick shake of her head. “I can’t leave him alone, Barry.” 

Barry sighs. He rakes a hand down his face, the cowl already pulled into place to to conceal his identity, but Iris can read the mixture of fear and resignation in his expression plain as day. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Come on.” 

Iris shoves her feet into a pair of Flash slippers and no sooner does the world around her begin to blur as Barry races them through the streets of Central. They skid to a stop behind a police barrier, and Barry sets Iris down. 

“Wait here,” he says. 

“Flash,” Iris protests, mindful of their new audience, but Barry cuts her off with a quick shake of his head. 

“Just until I get him to stop shooting, okay?” Barry pleads, and while Iris isn’t exactly happy, she doesn’t want to waste time arguing. 

“Go,” she says. Solem, Barry nods, then speeds away. 

“Flash,” Leonard drawls, training his gun on Barry the second Barry skids to a stop before him. Leonard’s voice carries, even over the sound of sirens and anxiously chattering bystanders, and the sharp, tight quality it’s taken on makes Iris’ chest ache. 

“Took you long enough to get here,” Leonard adds. “Maybe you’re losing your edge.” 

“Snart,” Barry says, gentle and sympathetic, but with enough authority that his voice carries, too. “Put the gun down.” 

Iris can hear the sorrow in Barry’s voice, and Leonard must, too, because his body trembles almost imperceptibly before the walls go back up and and he moves his finger to the trigger. 

“Can’t,” Leonard bites out. 

Barry shakes his head. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. 

“Sure I do,” Leonard replies. “I’m a criminal, Flash. And it seems to me like I broke our deal.” 

Barry’s told Iris about the deal before. No going after cops.  _ No going after people Barry loves _ . Iris’ stomach feels like it’s in knots. 

“So what are you gonna do?” Leonard challenges. “Whisk me off to Iron Heights? Find a nice cozy cell in the North China Sea with my name on it. Or maybe something’ll  _ go wrong _ in transport and I won’t make it that far.” 

Tears pool in Iris’ eyes and she blinks furiously to clear them away. From behind, she sees Barry shake himself life he’s trying to do the same. 

“No,” Barry says, his voice thin and raw, almost too quiet to reach Iris’ prying ears. 

“No?” Leonard repeats, harder, meaner. “Maybe you’d rather let Detective West take me in, is that it, Flash?” 

“No,” Barry insists, even more broken than before. “I’m not going to punish you.” 

The snarling sound that rips from Leonard’s throat is hardly human, like anguish made manifest, and Iris raises a hand to her mouth to weep. 

“Why not?” Leonard snaps. He takes a step forward, his gun whirring to life. “I’m a criminal. I broke the law.” 

“I know it wasn’t like that,” Barry says. 

Leonard snaps. He pulls the trigger, forces Barry to dodge an oncoming stream of cold. Still, instead of sailing out into the crowd of bystanders, the beam ices over the pavement, and Iris’ heart thuds miserably in her chest. He’s aiming at Barry’s feet. 

“Stop making excuses, Flash,” Leonard yells. “I don’t wanna hear anymore of your bullshit about the kinda man you think I am. You’re wrong.” 

Leonard fires again, then again, chasing Barry’s heels like he can force him to finally hit back. 

“And it’s always  _ like that _ .” 

Leonard spits Barry’s own words back at him like acid. He raises his gun and gets a shot off that catches Barry in the leg, and Barry falls hard to the ground. Leonard stalks forward, his aim still trained on Barry’s chest, and while Iris can’t see his eyes from here, she pictures them dark and stormy and so full of pain it takes her breath away. 

Without conscious thought, Iris slips past the police barricade and runs. She hears her father’s voice, yelling frantically to his colleagues to hold their fire,  _ that’s his baby girl _ , but it hardly registers above the sound of the blood pounding in her ears. 

“Leonard, stop!” 

Her voice must startle him, because when he turns to face her, the Cold Gun is still raised, level with her head. Iris shudders, puts her hands up, but doesn’t stop her slow advance. 

“Stop,” Iris says again, softer this time. “Just put the gun down, okay?”  

Leonard shakes. It’s hard to tell under the layers of his parka, but Iris sees it. 

“Iris,” Leonard croaks. His voice sounds so broken and hollow, Iris’ heart squeezes in her chest. 

“It’s okay,” she says again, begging with her eyes for him to believe her. “None of this was your fault. I’m not upset with you. Barry’s not upset with you.” 

Leonard glances over, unsure, at Barry as he pulls himself shakily to his feet, his leg freed from the ice by the micro-heaters in his suit. Iris takes the opportunity to step closer still, until she’s an arm’s length away from the muzzle of the Cold Gun. 

“Just put it down,” Iris repeats. She raises a hand to grab for the gun, but Leonard lowers it before she has the chance, like he doesn’t want her touching something so lethal, so marred with death. 

“You should be,” Leonard says when there’s less than a foot of space between them. Barry hears him too, joining them at their side, but still hovering uncertainly a few paces back. 

Iris swallows hard. “Len,” she says. “He would have killed us. You did what you had to.” 

Still, Leonard shakes his head. “Shoulda had a way out,” he says. “Shoulda had a plan. I messed up. Oversold the bluff. If I’d come at it from a different angle--”

“Neither of us thinks that,” Barry says softly, cutting Leonard off as he spirals. 

Iris watches as Leonard blinks his eyes, breathes shallow, bites his lip hard enough to bleed. “We should do this somewhere else,” she says, and Barry nods. Iris turns to the crowd with just enough time to flash her father a subtle thumbs up before Barry whisks them away. 

Iris blinks to clear her head from disorientation of the trip, and her brow furrows in surprise when she realizes Barry’s taken them back to their apartment. Leonard’s Cold Gun is gone, and when Barry enters the living room in a fresh t-shirt and the same sweatpants as earlier, Iris guesses he stashed it away somewhere in their bedroom. 

“Where am I?” Leonard asks. He sounds small and confused. Scared.

Iris’ heart leaps into her throat. “Our apartment,” she replies. 

Leonard stiffens in his place. He adjusts his posture, back straightening, drawing himself up to his full height. The only thing that betrays his outward facade of hard, unflinching control is the way he plays with his fingers, running his thumbs in circles along the curled knuckles of his fingers where they cross at the wrists like a shield. 

“Give me my gun back and I’ll go,” Leonard says. 

Barry crosses his arms over his chest. He places himself between Leonard and the door, and Leonard bristles as his only exits is cut off. “I don’t think that’s the best idea right now,” Barry says. 

Leonard shakes his head. “Fine,” he snaps. “I’ll make a new one.” 

He makes a move for the door, but Barry moves too. “Don’t just walk out,” he pleads, soft and gentle.

“Thought you said I wasn’t under arrest,” Leonard says. 

“You’re not,” Barry replies. 

“Then get out of my way.” 

Barry moves just as Leonard does, still blocking his path. Leonard grabs Barry by the shirt collar and slams him up against the door, first reeling back to strike. 

“Len,” Iris yelps. 

Leonard stops dead. His fists, the one clutching Barry’s collar, the one raised level with Barry’s nose, visibly shake until he pulls away like he’s been burned and drops them to his side. They clench and unclench sporadically, and Leonard’s gaze shifts to a spot just above Barry’s head, like he can’t stand to look at the other man. Like he needs gravity’s help to keep the wetness in his eyes. 

“Why are you doing this?” Leonard rasps out, his voice thick and broken. 

“Because you’re hurting,” Barry says. He steps forward and Leonard steps away, backing into the living room. “And we want to make sure you’re alright.” 

“Keep tabs on me, you mean,” Leonard corrests. “So I don’t do anything worse than I already have.” 

The fear gripping Iris like a vice finally breaks her, shatters her into sharp, angry pieces. “Yeah,” she yells. “Like aiming your gun at half the CCPD like you wanted them to--” she stops herself short. 

“Was it just to get Barry’s attention or were you actually trying to…” Iris can’t finish the question. It gets stuck somewhere in her throat along with her heart. 

Leonard’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, I-- Iris, you’re crying.” 

She hadn’t noticed, but it’s true, wet, hot rivulets spilling down her cheeks. She sniffles and raises her hands to wipe them away. “That’s because I was scared,” she says. 

Leonard is quiet, still. He and Iris stare each other down until the suffocating fear in Iris’ chest isn’t about losing him anymore. Her eyes flick to Barry over Leonard’s shoulder and with a single look, everything falls into place. Iris doesn’t need to ask and Barry doesn’t have to say yes. Down to their bones they know what they both want. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Iris steps forward and takes Leonard’s hand. Leonard shivers under her touch but doesn’t pull away, so Iris gets bolder. She examines the beds of Leonard’s nails, torn and bloody, like he scrubbed them raw to wash the memories from his skin. Iris wants to replace them with good ones, so she raises his fingers to her mouth and kissed them softly. 

Leonard jolts like a wild animal in a cage. His muscles go rigid and he pulls his hand back, then turns to look over his shoulder at Barry. 

Barry takes a gentle, deliberate step forward and nods. “We were both scared,” he says. He puts a gentle hand on Leonard’s shoulder that Leonard tenses under but doesn’t try to shake off. “Because we both care about you.” 

Iris takes Leonard’s hand again. She brings it to her lips for another kiss, cradling his forearm against her chest. Barry presses his chest along Leonard’s side. 

Leonard’s breath hitches in his throat. “What are you two idiots doing?” he asks, sharp and raw. Not  _ where are you taking this _ , but  _ why do you think this is a good idea _ .

“You can go now, if you want,” Iris says, because she needs to be sure that’s clear, that Leonard knows he has a voice, a choice, a way out he didn’t have last time. 

“But we really want you to stay,” Barry adds, because yeah, that needs to be clear, too. “Not just tonight.” 

Barry drops a kiss against Leonard’s shoulder through the thick fabric of his parka and Leonard shudders under the attention. Barry’s hand comes up to pull away the open coat and slide it down Leonard’s arms, kissing the side of his neck as it becomes exposed. 

Iris helps take off the other sleeve until the parka hits the floor. As Barry continues kissing up the column of Leonard’s throat, Iris trails her fingers along the side of his jaw, then pulls him in for a deep, earth-shattering kiss.  

Leonard’s lips on hers feel even better than they did the first time around. There’s not guilt, or shock, or fear coming between them, and the sensation is maddening, making Iris’ toes curl in her slippers. Leonard lets out a high-pitched, broken keen that claws at Iris’s heart. She pulls her lips away from Leonard’s skin and Barry does the same, both looking up at him with wide, worried eyes. 

“Is this okay?” Iris asks. “Is it too fast?” 

Leonard shakes his head, but Iris doesn’t think it’s in answer to either of her questions. “I didn’t want it,” he whispers, small and broken. 

Tears prickle behind Iris’ eyes. “Oh, honey, I know,” she says, rubbing his arm, but still, he shakes his head.

“I didn’t want it to go that far,” Leonard tries again. He looks up at Iris with dark, clouded eyes, and a lump forms in her throat. “But I wanted that kiss. I didn’t think about the consequences.”  

Iris draws in a shaky breath at the confession. Her hands falter against Leonard’s arm, but Barry’s never waver. 

“Doesn’t mean it was your fault,” he whispers against the flesh of Leonard’s neck. “What happened to you wasn’t a consequence.” 

“Of course not,” Iris agrees, finding her steel again. She and Barry stare Leonard down until he nods, swift and curt, then Iris leans in to kiss him again. “And you don’t have to feel guilty for wanting this,” she adds. “We want it, too.” 

Leonard tilts his head to look back at Barry, an unspoken question in his eyes. Barry nods and leans forward, kissing Leonard soft and sure on the mouth.     

Iris isn’t sure what to expect, watching the man she loves, the many she’s in a happy, committed relationship with, kiss someone else, but it doesn’t feel bad. There’s no jealousy or anger or betrayal. She can’t put her finger on why, whether it’s because she has feelings for Leonard too, or because she knows Barry does, but decides either way it’s immaterial. She focuses on enjoying the good feelings instead, the pride, the contentment, the undeniable spark of lust building low in her belly. 

“Come here,” Iris urges when Barry and Leonard part, dragging Leonard in for a deeper, searing kiss. Leonard responds in kind, twining his fingers through Iris’ hair and making an ever greater mess of her haphazard bun. 

“I really wanna,” Iris pants between kisses. “But not if you’re not ready.” 

“Fuck,” Leonard huffs. His free hand reaches back to steady himself on Barry’s hip as Barry sucks bruises into his neck. Iris feels Leonard stiffening against her hip and she can’t keep herself from rocking against him, even as she chides herself for pushing the boundaries she made such a point of saying she’d respect. 

Leonard doesn’t protest though. Instead, he matches her subtle rhythm, rolling into her body first, then pressing back against Barry’s. Barry’s whines and suckles on the lobe of Leonard’s ear, always so sensitive, so easy to turn into a desperate, panting mess, nevermind the fact that he’s been pining after Leonard for years and Iris knows it.

Iris steps back just enough to shrug out of Barry’s hoodie. The threadbare cotton of her tanktop shows the outline of her nipples in sharp detail, and Leonard’s hand slides out her her hair and down to tease the erect flesh with his thumb. Iris groans into his mouth and arches up, chasing more sensation. 

She gets it when Barry’s hand lands on her hip and pushes the fabric of her top up enough to touch skin to skin. Iris runs her hand up his arm and digs in her nails, feeling so close to the edge already it makes her flush in embarrassment. 

“Bedroom,” Iris pants, pulling her lips away from Leonard’s. “Can we -- bedroom?” 

Leonard nods shakily and Barry grabs him by the hips, mouthing at his neck as he guides them through the apartment to the room Barry and Iris share. 

Iris kicks her slippers off as they go.  

Getting Barry and Iris out of their clothes is laughably easy. Barry strips out of his t-shirt and sweats before they even get the door closed, left in a pair of snug-fitting boxer-briefs that show off the impressive line of Barry’s hardening cock. He’s at Iris’ side a moment later, peeling her out of her top between filthy, lurid kisses, hands groping her breasts, trailing along the toned line of her stomach. 

Iris pulls back to push her flannel pyjama bottoms down her thighs and kick them away. It leaves her bare and exposed to two sets of hungry eyes, the first of the three to be completely naked. She advances on Leonard and throws her arms around his neck, dragging him into a kiss. Barry comes up behind her and lets his hands trail across her body as his lips and tongue trace the muscles in her shoulders. 

Iris’ fingers slip under the hem of Leonard’s heavy black shirt, but she stops a second later when she feel him go tense. 

“Everything okay?” Iris asks. Barry pauses his ministrations to look up at Leonard, too. 

Leonard shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. He grabs Iris’ wrists and holds them in place. 

“Len?” Barry prompts when Leonard doesn’t speak. 

“I’m not exactly easy on the eyes once this comes off,” he warns with a quiet, sardonic laugh. 

Iris’ heart aches. She wants to tell Leonard to take it off anyway, that nothing underneath could ever mar the way she feels about him, the way  _ they  _ feel about him, but she knows that’s not what he needs to hear, as much as she’d mean it. 

“You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” she says instead, and Barry nods emphatically to back her up. 

Leonard nods, too, then leans in to kiss first Iris, then Barry, sweet and tender. 

Iris thinks that’s that, until Leonard takes a step back and grabs the hem of his shirt with shaky hands. Her breath catches in her throat and she feels Barry’s do the same as they watch, enraptured, as Leonard peels himself out of his shirt. 

The scarring is… extensive. Iris understands Leonard’s hesitation the second she sees it. She fights the knee-jerk reaction to look away, or twist her face in horror. 

The slashes are the worst, some straight and precise, others erratic and jagged. They run across his chest and arms in every direction, deep furrowed cuts and raised angry welts in equal measure. Then, Iris notices the burns, small and round like cigarette butts and car lighters. She sees old bullet wounds, too, once she looks past the cuts, but it’s the burns that stick out to her, make her force down a disturbed shudder. They’re so targeted, so deliberate. 

It isn’t fair. 

Iris takes a cautious step forward and places a gentle hand on Leonard’s chest, right above one of the worst protruding scars. “Thank you,” she says, soft and weighty, then leans up and kisses him. Leonard lets her drag him back with her to bed, and the two collapse in a tangle of limbs, Barry right behind. 

Iris tugs at Leonard’s belt, frantic to get it unclasped so his pants can follow suit. Leonard chuckles fondly and brings his own hand down to help, which only makes matters worse, but Iris can’t complain when every brush of Leonard’s knuckles against her stomach causes a shock of heat to shoot through her core. 

“Fuck, you two are gorgeous,” Barry sighs, stretched out beside them, watching, propped up on his elbow. His cock so hard, straining against his underwear in a way that makes Iris’ mouth water. “How did I end up with two people this gorgeous in my bed?” 

Iris reaches a hand out to twine her fingers through Barry’s and she beams as his thumb strokes ardently across the thundering pulse in her wrist. 

“I love you,” Iris whispers. 

Barry smiles. “I love you, too.” He kisses the top of her hand then puts it down to take Leonard’s instead. Iris can feel the tension, the uncertainty in Leonard’s body when Barry kissis his hand, too. 

“And I love you,” Barry says, so solid and sure, never looking away from Leonard’s eyes even as Leonard's breath catches in his throat.

Iris knew that. Even before he said it, she knew. Maybe it’s part of the reason she started falling for Leonard, too. To hear Barry speak of him, the man hangs the moon. To Iris, it’s more like he stole it for Barry to hang himself. 

Barry shuffles over to kiss Leonard, to back up his words with actions. Iris feels Leonard shaking as he kisses back, grip tight and grounding on Iris’ hip. 

As they kiss, Barry finally peels himself out of his underwear, cock springing free and leaking precome. “I love watching the two of you together,” he says as he takes his cock in hand. “Love that you need each other like I need you.” 

Leonard’s kisses trail down Iris’ neck to her breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth as Barry reaches over to toy with the other between his fingers. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Barry breathes. It doesn’t matter who he’s talking to. Iris knows he means them both. 

Leonard’s underwear are last to join the pile of discarded clothes. As he sits up and slides them off, Iris gets her first look at his cock. It’s flushed and hard, about an inch longer than Barry’s and thicker, too. If it bothers Barry, he doesn’t show it, insteading whining high and needy in his throat. The way Iris’ cunt aches thinking about all the things she wants Leonard to do to her, to both of them, with that cock, it seems she agrees. 

“Can I ride you?” Iris asks before she even has time to think about what she’s saying. 

Leonard sucks in a shuddering breath and nods, shifting to the head of the bed and flopping over onto his back. Barry grabs a condom from their nightstand in a burst of superspeed and tears the package open as Iris crawls up Leonard’s body and settles between his thighs. She takes his cock in her hands and looks up at him through her lashes until she sees him nod, then leans down and takes his cock in her mouth. 

Iris has never minded giving head. Under the right circumstances, she even enjoys it. With Barry, the right circumstance is usually every circumstance, and it seems to be the same with Leonard. Hearing him pant and groan and swear as her tongue circles his head, as she takes him all the way to the back of her throat, makes her clit throb. It gets even better when Barry fingers her from behind, slipping his fingers through her slick folds and pushing first one, then two, into her cunt as she sucks. She moans with the pleasure of it all, and the noise sends vibrations down Leonard’s cock that make him arch up into her mouth. 

Iris pulls off, obscene and sloppy, saliva and precome dripping down her chin, when she gets Leonard too close to the edge. He huffs in disappointment and she chuckles, grabbing the condom Barry passes over and getting to work slipping it down Leonard’s shaft. 

“You can come down my throat next time,” she promises, and Leonard bucks into her hand with a desperate groan that Barry seconds. 

“Okay?” Iris asks, climbing up Leonard’s body and positioning his cock at her entrance. She so wet her toes curl thinking of how well she’ll take him. Leonard nods and grips her hips, and Iris puts the fantasy to the test. 

God, she was wrong. It’s even better. 

As Iris falls into a rhythm, small, shallow thrust at first, then deeper, firmer rolls of her hips, Barry trails his hand up her thigh. He’s lying on the bed beside them, half curled around Leonard’s side sucking hickeys into his neck as he watches Iris ride him with hooded eyes. The hand that isn’t tracing patterns against Iris’ skin is working together with Leonard’s to jerk him off and Iris trembles at the sight. 

“I’m close,” Iris warns. Leonard’s free hand moves from her hip to her clit to bring her there faster and Iris keens. “Fuck,” she moans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

When Iris comes, her whole body shakes. She can hardly hold herself upright but can’t stop bouncing on Leonard’s cock either. She can tell he’s close, so is Barry, and it’s a race to see who’s going to get there next. 

“Roll over,” Barry says. It takes Iris a minute and an insistent hand against her hip to realize he’s talking to her, but when she does, she pulls herself off Leonard’s cock with shaky thighs and falls into the mattress at his side, curling around his body to preserve the integrity of her afterglow. 

She understands the request when Barry peels the condom off and takes Leonard down his throat. He’s beaten his gag reflex, something Iris is both jealous and intimately aware of thanks to a certain toy they like to break out on special occasions. When Barry’s tongue flicks across Leonard’s balls, that’s all it takes to push him over the edge. He tries tugging on Barry’s hair, but Barry stays firmly in place, taking every drop of Leonard’s come as it spills down his throat. 

“God, Barry,” Leonard groans when Barry finally pulls off. He strokes himself once, twice, three times more, then Barry’s shooting ribbons of come across Leonard and Iris’ chests. 

Barry slumps, exhausted, against Leonard’s other side and rubs the come absently into Leonard’s skin. As soon as Barry realizes what he’s doing, he flushes and draws his hand back. “Sorry,” he says. 

Leonard runs a hand through Barry’s hair and kisses him hard. “Don’t be,” he replies. He doesn’t reach for the box of tissues on the night stand, nor does he prompt Iris to, even though she’s closer. Iris lets the come cool against her skin, too, and mouths at the corner of Leonard’s jaw. 

“Feeling okay?” she asks, because she needs to be sure, even though Leonard seems content and settled. 

Subtly, Leonard nods. “Better than in a long time,” he admits, the words whispered into the quiet of the room, the only sound that of their laboured breathing evening out. 

Barry smiles, then yawns. He’s always sleepy after sex. “Good,” he says. “Means you have a reason to stay.” 

Leonard doesn’t offer up a reply, but he doesn’t have to. Barry’s gone back to rubbing come into his skin and Iris’ neck is still bruised from his mouth and they belong to each other now. With each other. 

Leonard isn’t going anywhere.     

**Author's Note:**

> If I haven't completely scarred you, come say hi on [Tumblr](http://asexual-fandom-queen.tumblr.com/).


End file.
